The Vanilla Exposition
by teoriapostmoderna
Summary: Coitus for Shamy means a new Date Night schedule, among other things. One-shot.


**A/N: **_Hi there! New one-shot from me. This one is for Marina (xLostInTheSun) who asked for... something (spoiler!). I'm not sure this is exactly what you asked for, Marina, but following prompts 100% is not my thing, apparently. Whoops._

_This is not beta-ed, I'm not a native speaker, I hope you don't find atrocious mistakes, la di da. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**The Vanilla Exposition**

As the day was drawing to a close, Amy threw a handful of spaghetti in the boiling water. The vapor rising from the pot clouded her glasses as a wave of cold air hit her from behind, carrying inside the apartment the smell of the light rain that had been falling down since that morning without a break – the noise it produced gave a quiet soundtrack to her daily activities; it reminded of the sleeping apps some people used, as well. And maybe because of that, her body was ready to go to bed.

"What are you cooking?" a well-known voice asked, approaching her from behind.

"Your favourite."

"Yummy!"

His head peeked from behind her shoulder and he sniffed the smell coming from the food, like a cat that doesn't understand the meaning of _waiting_.

Years had passed, but Sheldon was unwilling to let go of the idea of Date Nights (she was, too). As for what they had turned into, it seemed like a ploy and a clever disguise that she could see right through and played along with. He got to enjoy homemade food made with her hands and then those same hands held onto him as he had his way with her. If they were feeling particularly adventurous, they would get to bed before washing the dishes. One time, they barely made it through intercourse since the thought of being – quite literally – so dirty made them laugh so hard, so freely, that sex in itself seemed like nice frosting on an already delicious cake.

As a plus, it was fun to see the stunned expression on Penny and Bernadette's faces when she described their living-on-the-edge attitude.

"I know what you're thinking" Sheldon said, sitting at the table by the window.

Amy was abruptly brought back from her reminiscing as she babbled a confused: "...what?"

"It's Date Night."

"So?" she asked, counting on the fact that he couldn't see her face.

"I know that tone as well!" he lamented. "You're going to propose something that adds whatever flavour that is not vanilla to our bed activities."

She snorted.

"I still don't understand what that's supposed to mean, by the way" he mumbled. "I like vanilla."

Pretending to be occupied elsewhere and still showing her back to him, she just asked again: "So?"

"It's not what we usually do when it's not Date Night" he replied in a way that made it impossible for her to deny she wasn't getting it. His tone was starting to show a tiny hint of annoyance, too.

"But...?" she prompted.

"But– but what?"

She caught a couple of spaghetti with a fork to taste them. "Well, we now do things we didn't do when we started and don't say you don't enjoy them." No. They weren't ready, but maybe they needed another pinch of salt. "Especially that one thing." And with that, she turned her head his way.

He blinked at her.

"You _know_ the one" she insisted.

"You enjoy it back" he said without losing a beat. "And that's just a natural evolution of any given ability. If it wasn't, I'd still be doing the simplest calculations such as 2 plus 2 everyday, over and over."

Some other time, she would have him talk one of her made up languages that she would make sure it wouldn't have "ambiguous answer" as an actual possibility. _That would be an enjoyable activity_, she thought.

"So you mean I should just let the whimsical take over and do things on my own before slash during coitus without consulting with you first?" she jumped to the wrong conclusion – as a joke. "Suit yourself."

When all she heard was the sound of rain for seconds and seconds on end, she turned to face him. He was staring intently at the glass of Strawberry Quik he was holding in his hand, playing with a red straw – made of glass as well – that she had bought for him. Hesitant at first, he finally had to admit that the taste was better compared to cheap plastic.

"You know I wouldn't do that, do you?" she asked under her breath.

"I know, I just got distracted" he said. "Even though sometimes I– some things I just really can't say. Yet."

Amy's face was once again hidden from him, this time by chance: she was picking a bottle of water from the fridge. That gave her time to register his words.

"Try me" she said, closing the fridge door.

All he did was redirecting his stare straight in her eyes, sitting motionless on the chair.

"I'm going to tell you a fantasy I have" she proposed. "Is that okay?"

He rolled his eyes. "Is this the one about me riding a horse?"

"No" she deadpanned. She then thought of a way to formulate her thoughts, but she had learned the hard way that there was no other way when it comes to sex other than diving right in. "I think of us having sex in the shower. There."

She shrugged her shoulders to distract herself from the embarrassing confession.

"My shower?" he asked. "Or yours?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that what you're interested in?"

"I'm trying to consider the logistics." He then, too, shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't waste your time trying, that's the exact reason why I never proposed it. I" she took a quick breath "did my research. Should have known anyway – it's not a good choice, even on your own. Who even thinks of doing that while standing up? So uncomfortable."

Going off on a tangent over masturbation methods was a first in their relationship.

"I do understand that" Sheldon candidly agreed. He then changed the subject: "Is pasta ready? I'm hungry."

She took her place at the table, directly facing him. "Aren't you going to tell me yours?"

"I didn't promise you that" he said, taken aback.

On a whim, she launched herself in his direction, landing mere inches from his nose. Amy could tell from the look on his face that he wanted – really wanted – to reprimand his girlfriend over her table manners, but as a matter of fact she didn't break anything in the process and she had tied her hair back in a low ponytail before cooking, ergo it wasn't dirtying the pristine clean plates or anything else on the surface.

With a big smile on her face, she suggested: "Whisper it to me."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Not giving a care, she pointed to her ear. "If it's a secret, whisper it to me."

He shook his head but did as was told.

"Oh" Amy managed to say after her mind blacked out for a few seconds. "We... we can do that."

"Now?" he asked.

"Weren't you hungry?" she asked back, placing a quick kiss on his lips before straightening up, using her hands on the table as support, and stopped midway when she caught the typical look – and first sign – Sheldon gave her when he was trying to communicate what he wanted to do with her. She asked herself if she would ever get used to that. Not when they were in public, not when they were alone, not after she heard him say those words.

Then came the second sign; he took her by the right wrist. Always the right one.

"Don't" he said.

She didn't need to fill in the blanks. "I have to turn off the pot or your raging hormones will be responsible for our death."

"Oh." He let her go. "This is all your fault, it all goes back to sex."

"Sure" she quipped.

"Sarcasm. I got it."

She took a quick glance at the pot and there was no other answer to her inquiry. "This is way overcooked. What do we do?"

Amy knew there was no other answer to that other inquiry, as well.


End file.
